As relationships go I would venture to say that the relationship between a mother and daughter can be most complicated. It's a relationship that has the most potential to evolve greatly over time and the process can be quite painful for both. I know this is true not only in my case but that of many mothers and daughters. This is a very brief and open ended synopsis of my relationship with my mother. I am still processing the past, present and contemplating the future. I fully expect that my understanding of our relationship will continue to deepen as I get older and experience motherhood in all it's aspects as my own children grow.
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| My beautiful mother. 1974 |
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My mother, Starlet Darlene Chappell Smellie, is a very beautiful woman. Growing up I was never embarrassed by her. As a preteen in the eighties I thought her "totally awesome". She used to drive me and my best friend to junior high in her talking convertible, Chrysler Le Barron. She liked the same music as I did and loved to dance. She told me stories of her playful childhood that I envied. She was creative, imaginative and adventurous.
As a mother she was a powerful influence on my younger brother and I. From my vantage point she had the answers to everything, she could do anything; build Koi ponds, bird aviaries, full size play houses, dining room tables, remodel the house and install pot belly stoves. She was a photographer, gardener, seamstress, family book keeper, travel agent, jewelry sales associate, make-up sales consultant and full time bible teacher. She was also, unofficially of course, the supreme private investigator, personally that is, not professionally. This made being a typical teenager, trying to "get away with stuff" not even worth trying.
I was and still am, a girl who wears her emotions on her sleeve so there was nothing that went unnoticed by mom and therefore seldom escaped interrogation when a problem was detected. Few feelings, emotions, desires or wishes were kept private. It was after all her responsibility as mom to know what was going on in her daughters life, mind and heart. It was as if she was bound and determined to protect me from any and all pain that life may inflict on a young, unsuspecting, naive, young lady. I did not see it that way of course. In my youthful ignorance it only felt like over protection. Now whether I inherited the tendency to think myself inadequate and incapable or it developed over time I can't say for sure. Either way I began to be a people pleaser, doing things that were more for the satisfaction of making someone else love, like or just approve of me. This codependent behavior prevented me from developing the ability to figure out who I was, what I was good at, what my strengths and weaknesses truly were. I didn't challenge anything or anyone, including myself. I was afraid to. After all, what did I know?
As I entered the teenage years the more my own personality began to emerge. My temperament, much more like my father, was highly sensitive and emotionally intense. Those characteristics coupled with fluctuating hormones were not always a pretty thing. I fought feelings of worthlessness and depression which lead me to laughing and happy like a court jester one minute, the next crying and in the depths of despair like a death row convict, "Dead man walking!". Even with all the teenage drama and emotional roller coaster rides I took my mother on, we almost never argued. At least I don't recall ever fighting. She was definitely frustrated with me at times and I sat through a bountiful portion of parental speeches and lectures. But raising my voice in anger was something I feared to do. So I bit my tongue as she would remind me that I was the child and she was the parent who knows best. And she was right. I believed it then and believe it now. That is, the wisdom of a loving parent always trumps the inexperience of a teenager. One evening after getting home late, some time shortly after my curfew at the age of 17, I spoke my mind in frustration but the one time. In that heated discussion I called her Marry Poppins. To me she was "practically perfect in every way" and I had no idea how I could I ever live up to that. This is what was at the heart of my problem.
I wasn't interested in challenging parental authority. I didn't disagree with my parents rules, guidance or direction. I knew they, my mother, loved me and had my best interest at heart. But I had come to believe that I was a disappointment to my mother. I possessed no talents, no skills, nothing tangible or any visible sign of worth, nothing I could measure. I had struggled enormously in school, socially as well as academically, so much so I dropped out my junior year. I took up the bible teaching work my mother was engaged in and a part-time job, first at an ice cream parlor then Jack in the Box, yet I still felt as if I was a constant source of frustration to her because of being so intensely emotional. "You're just like your father. You're not like me." She would say. "I was never like that as a teenager." Expressions I translated as, 'Sunny, I just don't get you and I don't know what to do with you or how to help you.'
For the next two years I did my very best to make my parents proud of me. I worked as hard as I could to be a "good girl". I tried to keep as much of my emotional "drama" and personal turmoil under control or hide it in my room. Gradually the hormones settled a bit and the emotional outbursts became fewer and fewer . During those years I considered my mother to be my best friend. We taught people about the bible together, caught thieves, took cake decorating classes and went dumpster diving for McDonald's Disneyland passes. (Details of this strange list of events to be discussed at a later date.) All in all we laughed a lot and had lots of fun. I listened to everything she had to say and pretty much believed it to be the only truth. At 19 I married a man who was from Australia. He was Lebanese by birth but raised around and preferred western culture. It was then that I began to see my mother in a new light.
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| Mom and I in the late 80"s |
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From time to time she and my husband used to butt heads, not angry conflict, more like mild irritation, annoyance or exasperation. She had her perspective he had his and the two would debate over what seemed to be some of the most trivial things. I think my husband loved to bate her into these discussions just for fun. I recall after one such debate over dinosaurs and living on other planets, I began to realize that my mothers point of view was not always and in every case the only truth. That was huge for me! I did not have to agree with everything my mother said. I could have my own opinion on something, I could even make some choices that would be different from hers and that would be OK. In fact it was better for ME. I sorta grew up just a bit more that day, however, my real personal growth wouldn't happen until I was in my mid 30's.
Looking back now I wonder if the realization of individualization also effected my relationship with my husband. Eventually, I quit taking responsibility for his happiness and living every day to please him and make him love me. That was never going to make either of us happy. Sadly after more than 11 years of marriage I separated from my husband and eventually we divorced. The details of our divorce are sordid, ugly and very painful, as a parting of "one flesh" always is. I was a complete and total disaster! I went through hell and back and back to hell again! I had lost all faith in myself and I began to question so much of what I grew up believing. I was trying to raise a 6 year old son with ADHD and a 3 year old daughter on my own. No job, no car, and soon no home. I was desperate, terrified a wreck and a total mess. I needed my family's support. I needed my mother and she was there for me. In every way possible she supported me. Mom took me to buy and paid for an old Ford Taurus that daddy nick named "Tar Baby" because I would always forget to change the oil. I lived with them for several months until I found a job and the affordable housing units I had applied for were ready for me to move into. She even sat on the edge of the bed hugging me as the tears poured from my eyes and onto the tiny pieces of wedding photos. Even though her heart was in great pain over my suffering she was rock solid.
Over the next 9 years I fought to try to do what I thought was right, to do what I believed God wanted of me, and while some of those choices were not always what she thought were in my best interest, she always had my back, even when the choices I made came back to bite me in the butt. Never once did she utter the words, "I told you so." She believed in me and that I was being true to my conscience and she respected that. I continued to struggle to find my way back on my feet again and to truly grasp what God expected of me. I had lost myself, or more accurately, really didn't know who I was which lead me to a path of, dare I say it, "finding myself". I have always hated that expression because it so often seemed to accompany someone selfishly neglecting their responsibilities to their family. I did though, need to figure out what I needed to be healthy emotionally. How to love myself and accept myself for all the good and bad that I was.
Eventually, through a number of calamitous missteps and failed romantic relationships I learned a few priceless lessons: First, God loves me, Sunny Dawn Smellie Saada. I learned that I feel life intensely and passionately. That I love recklessly, without fear and that makes me vulnerable to heartbreak and disappointment. I want everyone to like me and when I know they don't, it hurts. I do not give up, even when I should. And I learned that with all my weakness and inabilities I'm stronger and more capable than I ever would have believed because my faith in God and the loving support and example of loyal love displayed by my family, mother in particular.
Then this is what I came to learn and believe about my mother. She loves God's righteous standards. She loves her husband, her family and me, intensely and in her own passionate way. She would die for any one of us. She will do anything to spare me from pain and hurt. I believe that she loves more cautiously. She would like for everyone to like her but is not dependent upon others approval. She knows when enough is enough and will not let others walk all over her. She's responsible in her duties as a mother and wife. She will not neglect to teach and instruct what she has come to know of life and her experiences. She desires to guide her children in paths that lead away from heartache. She is a strong and capable woman because God has given her his power. She is a warrior.
I wish that I could have seen all this when I was young. In my mid to late 30's I was resentful towards her for not understanding me and giving me what I thought I needed and she knew it. My self-centered behavior towards her must have grieved her greatly, but she never lashed out at me for it. To simply say, "I'm sorry." just doesn't seem to be enough.
September 11, 2013, my son turned 17 and my daughter is now 13. I am also remarried and have 3 step-children, 17, 13 and 9. My 911 son, as his dad and I would sometimes refer to him as, is a good young man, but he has challenged my parenting skills. The newly added members of my family have very different personalities from mine. Oddly enough, my relationships with them have probably been largely instrumental in teaching me the most about my mother. The struggles we have between us have more to do with our personality differences than anything else. I see a lot of myself in them while at the same time being so totally confused by them. I want to save them from the pain I see them in at times. I want to help them find out who they are and to love and accept themselves. But my attempts at
healing myself through them only frustrate us both. The words and expressed thoughts of my mother often ring through my head. The mix of emotions from my past and the present at times torment me. I'm not too proud to admit when I'm lost or wrong and so I have sought help from a variety of professionals who have been wonderful in assisting me with my new role as step-parent and adjusting my perspective. I also have an incredibly supportive husband who has patiently supported us all through this blending process. I share this piece too because the relationships I have with all of them opened my eyes to just how wonderful my mother is.
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| A painting of my mother by aunt Pam Smaley |
Today I realize that my mother and I spent a lot of years not really
understanding each other. I spent a lot of years feeling like my mother
didn't understand me when perhaps in reality it was I who didn't truly
understand her or myself. I'm ashamed to admit that at 41 almost 42 years of age I have done my mother a terrible disservice by failing to fully appreciate just what I have been given all these years.
I met my mother today. I think she is an extraordinary woman. She is beautiful, smart, creative, talented, loyal and loving. What valuable and treasured qualities I did not inherit from her she taught me. I am blessed because I am her daughter. It is my wish to be as loyal, patient and supportive of my children as she has been of me and to be a more, loving, understanding and supportive daughter to her, from today until forever.
I love you Mom.
One of the many things I have wanted to do was to be a writer. However, my association with the ANTs prevented me from even seeing the fact that I already WAS a writer. I've got a stack of journals and composition books to prove it too. (I'll show you them later.) Now whether or not I'm a "good" writer in the eyes of literary critics is really irrelevant. I write for me and the few dear friends and family who enjoy reading what I write. And on occasion I am delighted by the passerby who reads what I've written and says 'Hey, I enjoyed reading that.' "How awesome is that!" I exclaim. I don't ask for more.
